A Talent for Comforting Small Sadnesses
by dressagegrrrl
Summary: Retelling of Cinderella. Set at an all-girls boarding school in a world where your lot in life is determined by the Talent with which you are gifted at your coming of age. Humorous and sweet. Quite fluffy. Finalist in the CatsCurious Contest w/Jim Hines.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story was a finalist in the CatsCurious writing contest with Jim Hines. The criteria were that it had to be a retelling of a well-known character from the protagonist's POV, and appx 10k words. Then, the winning entry was going to be paired with Jim Hines's retelling of the winning entry from the antagonist's POV. It was a fun exercise, and I really enjoyed writing this short piece. Drop me a review if you feel like it. Concrit and ego-strokery are both welcome. (I JUST COINED THAT WORD. If you use it, you have to pay me fifty cents.)_

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I measured ingredients while I listened with patience to Hyacinth's giddy recounting of a dream she had. _One and a quarter cups of whole wheat flour…_

"I dreamed that Cynthia's head ballooned to twice its normal size, and I tied a string to it and floated around campus. Are you listening, Ella?"

_One half cup of stone-ground cornmeal…_ _Ms. Littleton, the Headmistress, loves these when they've got just the slightest texture. _I was standing in the school's enormous brick-floored kitchen at an island in the center, covered in flour. A fire roared in the cavernous fireplace behind me. At my absent nod, the girl continued.

"So, there we were – me and Cynthia Quaddlebaum – floating thirty feet in the air and suddenly, we were swarmed by a flock of blackbirds made entirely of licorice." Hyacinth paused for a moment in her story, and licked her lips. "So, I started kicking my legs, trying to get closer to the birds because I do love black licorice, and every time I'd get close enough to almost grab it, Cynthia would unmake them and they'd turn back into real birds." The young girl grimaced slightly. "I kept getting a mouthful of feathers. The worst part of it was that when I woke up this morning, I'd chewed a hole into my down comforter. Feathers everywhere, Ella. Everywhere!"

I choked slightly on my laughter. I kept my back to Hyacinth so she wouldn't be embarrassed. _Two teaspoons of sugar, one of salt, one of baking powder, and a pinch of baking soda. Mix well. _I started cutting in one-quarter cup of butter with a pastry cutter.

"Cynthia does have a particularly nasty Talent, dear. I'm sure she'd have done something similar if such a thing were to happen in real life. Remember when she melted Mrs. Avignon's nose job at Genevieve's Coming of Age party?" I asked, working the pastry cutter vigorously but with a light hand to mix the butter into the dry ingredients. Buttermilk biscuits are supposed to be fluffy and sweet, and none are better than mine. I smiled at the dough forming in my hands, and started humming softly as I poured in the cup of buttermilk and continued mixing.

"Well, yes." Hyacinth thought for a moment. "Whichever priest decided to gift her with such a malevolent Talent should be beaten with sticks… or even better, be made to live with her for as long as we have."

"Hyacinth, that's enough. Wishing ill upon the clergy is in poor taste. And it didn't have to be malevolent. That is merely Cynthia's application of it. Unmaking other people's Talents could be quite useful in the right situations. For example, remember when you accidentally sneezed polka dots onto your favorite pink skirt? She could have salvaged it if she'd been of a kinder disposition."

The girl's lips turned down. "I loved that skirt." She chewed her bottom lip ferociously. "You know, since then, I haven't had the heart to buy anything that isn't already green. Stupid Talent." She flushed painfully and examined her hands.

I mixed until the dry ingredients were just wetted, and quickly scooped it into a muffin tin. Usually, biscuits are done on a flat pan, but I put mine in a muffin tin so that they grow tall and fluffy instead of wide and dry. Again, I smiled, and sent a small surge of Talent towards the tin.

"Be tender. Be sweet. Be nourishing," I admonished, shaking my finger lightly. The dough puffed up as if aware of its duty to fill hungry girls' bellies, and I nodded encouragingly. Behind me, I heard Hyacinth sniffle, and I sighed and pushed the tray into the oven and shut the door before she lost control and ruined my biscuits.

"It's just not fair!" she wailed. Her hands covered her eyes, trying to hold in the Talent that threatened to break free. I saw a quick flash break through the pointer and middle finger of her right hand, and my kitchen apron was covered in fat grass green polka dots. It was actually rather fetching. "Everyone else has a Talent that's useful. I not only have one that's pointless, I can't control the darn thing!" she sobbed.

"Language," I admonished in a kind tone. I wiped the flour from my hands onto my pretty new apron, and sat down next to her at the long oak table where the servants ate their meals. I crossed my jean-clad legs, and pulled out my ponytail. My long black hair fell onto my shoulders and down my back. The kitchen was terribly hot, and it felt wonderful to have it loose. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her in close to me.

"Now then, I'll hear none of that talk, Miss. It's not the Talent, but what's done with it that makes you special. Look at my apron! I had a boring old white one until you came along and look how pretty it is now! I think I've never had something so fine. So, stop your belly-aching, and dry your eyes." I sent a surge of comfort towards her, and was gratified to see her sit up. I was a little less gratified when she wiped her nose on my apron, but it's one of the downsides of my Talent. The students often become a little too comfortable with me.

The door opened from the parlor, and Cynthia Quaddlebaum pranced into the room. "Don't mind me," she sang. "Just here for a little snack before tea!" With her bony, over-manicured hands she plucked an apple from a basket on the table. She bit into it with every appearance of enjoyment. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and her mouth formed a moue of pleasure. "Delicious. I swear, Ella. What you do with your talent of Homelyness is just magic!"

Hyacinth piped up. "Oh, Cynthia dear. I don't think you realize what you've said. Her talent is Homeyness, not…"

"Hy, did you know you have a huge smudge of flour on your cheek?" Her tone dropped in a conspiratorial fashion and she put a hand to the side of her mouth so that I couldn't see her lips. "It's what I warned you would happen if you persisted in hanging out with the servants!" she murmured just loud enough for me to hear her.

"Cynthia, did you know that you have a huge pimple on the tip of your nose? It's what I warned you would happen if you persisted in your lack of hygiene," an acerbic voice said from behind me. The smile dropped from Cynthia's face and she flushed a furious red. She glared at the speaker before turning on her heel and stomping out to the parlor.

I turned with a smile to see Elizabeth Brownwell entering the kitchen, her arms wrapped around a large object covered with a cloth.

"What on earth are you carrying?" I asked, curious.

She grinned, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. "Ms. Littleton told me that I should work on applications of my Talent. She suggested art since it's ladylike." Elizabeth placed her hands on the table and made a rude noise. "As if I'm not already ladylike! I thought I'd give it a try, and anyway, I had this horrid crystal vase my Aunt Ninian sent me that I was never going to display. So, with judicious application of my Talent, I have reshaped it. I have made it better! Stronger! More meaningful! Behold my masterpiece!"

Elizabeth pulled the cloth off of the sculpture, and I gasped.

"Oh, it's very well done. I can tell just who it's supposed to be, dear." I cleared my throat. "However, as impressively endowed as you have made her, I think Ms. Littleton would prefer not to display a naked sculpture of herself as a rearing centaur."

The girl's mouth turned down slightly. "You think it's too much?"

"Maybe just a touch. I'd at least mold a shirt on her before gifting her with your fabulous artwork. Now, shoo. Dinner isn't going to prepare itself."

* * *

Sixteen girls sat clumped around two dining tables. Six teachers and Ms. Littleton sat around another. All were hungry and waiting expectantly for me to bring out dinner. This was my favorite part of the day because I could see my Talent at work – the children's eyes glowing, the flushed cheeks, the silence at the tables as they let themselves be wrapped in warm memories of family dinners.

I brought out lovely platters heaped with moist turkey – light and dark meat, and homemade gravy as smooth as silk and made aromatic with rosemary. The turkey had been baked with apples and cinnamon stuffed in the gullet, and was just as mouth-watering as I could make it. Behind me streamed Marta the Maid and Rodney the Second Assistant Footman in a triumphal procession of garlic green beans sautéed with olive oil and tossed with almonds, and my fluffy homemade buttermilk biscuits, and mashed potatoes drenched in sweet cream butter.

The room was totally silent except for the muted clink of sterling flatware on porcelain. I saw Hyacinth close her eyes as a biscuit dissolved in her mouth. Jennafleur sighed in contentment around a mouthful of turkey. I circled my heart with my forefinger in memory of God's Talent–-Love-–and promised myself that I would light a candle at the church later in thankfulness for my Gift.

Once the plates were pushed away, and the girls began slouching almost imperceptibly in their seats, faces soft and relaxed, I brought out dessert–-a lovely fruit tart with a buttery crust covered by a layer of fine chocolate and Devonshire cream. It was topped with fresh blackberries and strawberries. Interest sparked in their eyes, and they sat forward. I felt like a maestro conducting an orchestra – the juicy fruit eliciting a sweet trill of anticipation, the thick cream drawing forth a soft bass thrum of contentment. Their voices were hushed as they clenched their napkins in their laps, and behind them a merry hearth fire crackled in the grate.

I set down the tart at the main table so that Marta could cut it and serve the girls their dessert. I tucked a loose strand of hair back into my bonnet and stepped back as Ms. Littleton cleared her throat at the head table. The girls turned to look at her dreamily, still lost in the magic of dessert.

"Ladies! We've received an invitation to a ball." The Headmistress of the school was a soft-spoken woman of seventy with steel gray hair. Her posture was ramrod straight, harkening back to an era of whalebone corsets and calling cards. Her hands moved as gracefully as sparrows as they opened and lifted into the air to draw the students' attention. "The occasion is to honor the return of Mr. and Mrs. Huffington's son Edward from England and all single females 16 or above are invited." Immediately an excited whisper traveled from table to table, interspersed with a good bit of grumbling from those girls too young to attend.

The wording of the invitation bemused me. Technically, if I wanted to, and I wasn't saying I did, I could attend the dance. My mouth quirked downwards as I thought. I could attend if I could afford to buy a dress in which I wouldn't be embarrassed, and if I could hire a car to take me. Which of course meant I wouldn't be going anywhere. I poked at the calluses on my hand, and ran my fingertip over the scar I received from baking Hyacinth a birthday cake from last year. It was still vivid pink and shiny and numb. I looked up to find Cynthia watching me through narrowed eyes. I had grabbed the hot cake pan in order to remove it from a flare of Cynthia's Talent. It was a lemon cake with fondant icing, and it was delicious. My mouth tipped up slightly.

"Ms. Littleton?" Cynthia asked. "Does it really mean _every_ girl over sixteen? Surely it doesn't mean _servants_." Her eyes flicked towards me, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind to whom she was referring.

The headmistress's eyes were cool. "This year we have eight girls sixteen or older, and I could use all the help I can get." She turned towards me, the edges of her mouth curling upwards almost imperceptibly. "Ella, can I prevail upon you to come to the dance and help me to chaperone? Provided you can find a dress in time."

"Yes, ma'am," I said demurely, and bobbed a curtsey.

Cynthia stared at me malevolently.

* * *

I looked at the small pile of coins in my hand and sighed. It wasn't going to be enough to buy a dress. I cocked my head. Maybe I didn't have enough for a dress, but I did have a plain white gown that had been my mother's. If I took on extra work I could save enough money to buy ribbons and lace to enhance it so that while I wouldn't shame myself at the Huffington mansion. I bit my lip. I wouldn't have enough for shoes. My Sunday slippers would have to do. They were old and worn, but with just a week before the dance, I had no time to try for anything more fashionable.

Using some of the smaller coins, I purchased flour and sugar and yeast and cream and butter and bittersweet chocolate. I set to work in the kitchen. I whispered to my ingredients, melting the butter, soaking the yeast in water, forming a tender dough. I sang to it while it cooled in the refrigerator developing its mouth-watering flavor. Telling it of the mysteries of good food, I cut the dough into small squares and folded the chocolate inside, leaving them seam side down. I covered them with a kitchen cloth, and hushed them and told them to rest. As I _shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhed_ them, they rose, dreaming of light and air. Finally, I put them in the oven. I jumped as a door slammed behind me.

"Whatever do you think you are doing, Ella! How dare you steal ingredients from Ms. Littleton!" Cynthia's shrill voice cut across my reverie. Alarmed, I looked up, and put my finger to my lips silently begging her not to cause my _pain au chocolat_ to fizzle and fall. Her face turned red like a cherry, and I knew she was pulling her Talent together to wreak havoc upon my innocent dessert. "You think you are so special, Ella," she hissed. "But you are nothing. Less than nothing!"

"I bought those ingredients myself, Cynthia," I whispered, desperately trying to salvage what I could. She sneered, and her finger jolted out towards the oven. An instant later, I was by the oven, absorbing most of the Talent blast, and weaving homeyness back into my pastries, hoping they would survive the fight.

I felt my clothes begin to lose shape as the Talent-enforced stitching pulled out. The colorful polka dots that Hyacinth had accidentally bestowed upon me ran in ugly streaks down my apron, and my servant's cap fell into tattered pieces on the floor. Tears of effort poured down my cheeks.

I was losing. I could feel it. My Talent was nearly exhausted, having been in constant use for the last four hours, and Cynthia was fresh. Slowly my will began caving to hers, and I saw a look of stupid triumph curl her thin lips. The door from the parlor opened.

"Whatever is going on here?" And just like that, the barrage stopped because it was Ms. Littleton herself who had come through the door. I collapsed onto the floor wearing nothing but my unmentionables and the tatters of my uniform and panted for breath. "Cynthia? Ella? I'd like an explanation immediately." Her voice was sharp but bewildered, taking in my state of dishabille and the shambles that was normally my orderly kitchen. I shook my head, still unable to speak.

"I caught Ella stealing, Ms. Littleton! She admitted that she was planning on selling her pastries for money instead of serving them here. Thieving servants would never be tolerated in my parents' household." Cynthia's arms were crossed in front of her, and her voice was triumphant but clipped. I smiled slightly when I saw that she too was panting from exertion.

Slowly I pushed myself to my feet. Ms. Littleton looked at me, her sharp face was softened by a kind expression, and I relaxed. "It's true that I was planning on selling them, ma'am, but I bought the ingredients myself. I found I didn't have enough money to buy a dress fit for a dance at the Huffington's. But I had enough for a little flour, butter, and chocolate, and I thought I'd sell some homemade pastries at Miss Rose's Bakery to earn enough to add some frills and embellishments to one of my mother's old dresses."

"That's very enterprising of you, dear – a fine use of your Talent."

"But, Ms. Littleton! Surely you aren't going to believe her – "

"That will be all, Cynthia. It's clearly a misunderstanding." Her voice was calm, but her eyes were hard, and Cynthia, knowing the battle was lost, turned to me.

"I'm ever so sorry, Ella. It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions. I can only hope that your pastries are all right." She was speaking through bared teeth. I nodded to her, and clutched the remains of my dress around me tighter, refusing to meet Cynthia's eyes. She turned and walked up the servants' steps towards her bedroom.

"Why don't you check, dear?" Ms. Littleton's hazel eyes were soft, and she put a hand on my shoulder. I turned to the oven, and pulled an oven mitt over my hand. The door opened with a creak, and I gasped. The first platter I pulled out had shriveled into sullen rocks of butter and chocolate. Fine charred marks covered their surface. I tried to blow some life into them, but they refused to become more than muddy blobs of tooth decay.

The second tray looked just as I had imagined them. The _pains au chocolat_ were a beautiful golden color, and the chocolate looked decadent. I pulled them out of the oven, inhaling their life-restoring scent.

I straightened, and put the tray on the table next to its brother. "So, twelve pastries are gone to waste. Twelve are saleable." I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye and sighed.

"I'll pack these up for you so you can sell them while they are still warm. Run upstairs and change your clothes; you're still in your skivvies. While you're gone, I'll have Marta put your uniform back together. She's Talented with a needle." Ms. Littleton patted me awkwardly on the shoulder, and grateful, I pressed my cheek to her hand. She smiled gently. "Go, child. Don't make me wait here with your dessert or I'll eat them all myself."

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_A/N: So, there's chapter one. If you feel so inclined, please drop me a review. It's very inspiring to the muse. She subsists on cookies, the smell of clean laundry (which is in short supply in my house), and reviews.  
_

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	2. Chapter 2

I carried the basket in front of me protectively, my arms wrapped around it to hold the red checked cloth in place. The streets were muddy, and I mourned getting the hem of my dress dirty. I'd intended on stopping by the church, and I didn't want to look slovenly.

I was nearly there when I heard a rumble of thunder overhead. I hiked up my skirt, and broke into a run, fearing that it would start to rain and my _pains au chocolat _would become wet and inedible. The church doors were open and I threw myself over the threshold just as the sky delivered on its soggy promise. Glee bubbled up from my belly, and I whirled around to face the steel sky and shook my fist at it laughing.

"Ha, you _missed_!" I shouted.

"Don't taunt the Lord, my dear. He has better than average hearing," said an amused voice behind me. Embarrassed, I turned to see a middle-aged man blinking at me myopically behind thick spectacles.

"Reverend James! Oh, no! Of course not. I was taunting the sky. That's much more socially acceptable." My voice was lofty, and I saw him smile at my playful tone.

"Parishioner Ella! Have you brought me, I mean God, an offering of pastries? The good Lord accepts offerings of all varieties if given from the heart." The reverend breathed deeply, eyes shut. "He especially likes _chocolate_ offerings given from the heart." I giggled, and shook my head. "Do you doubt me? Child, I am God's representative here on earth. You may believe every word that falls from my mouth-–even though they are clearly pearls before swine to you."

"I would _never_ doubt you, Reverend, but these are destined for Rose's, alas. Ms. Littleton is always going on about how you never take her up on her offer to join us for dinner. If you want to eat my cooking, you know where I work! I'll make you something special!" My tone was cajoling.

"Yes, yes, of course. One day I really must. I would just find it overwhelming to eat with so many beautiful women in the same room." He smiled at me fondly. "It's really no reflection on Ms. Littleton or any of your students, Ella. I find that the older I get, the more God's Talent weighs on me. Sitting in a room fully of newly Come-of-Age people would be like sitting in the midst of a fireworks display… beautiful, but noisy and distracting with a high potential for disaster." He seemed a bit sad there, standing in the doorway of his empty church with the rain pouring down outside, and I couldn't help myself. I reached out and touched him on the shoulder and wrapped him in the comforts of home. Reverend James sighed and smiled. "Lovely, dear. Thank you. You have such a kind Talent."

I grinned at him. "I've always been thankful for it. That's why I'm here, actually. I wanted to light a cand…"

"Blasted shoes!" Startled, I turned to see a man standing just outside the doorway, tugging off his sodden footwear. He upended them, and looked truly startled by the amount of water and mud that poured out of them. "Good Lord! Was that a frog?" He peered into them before gingerly sliding his muddy, stocking feet back into them. "Wouldn't do to crush any aquatic life," he said with an apologetic smile in our direction, before straightening up. He had a benign but vague air about him, and he wouldn't meet our eyes.

"You should blame the rain instead of your boots. That's what I've done. In fact, it's terribly _de rigeur_ right now," I teased.

"You don't seem to be any worse for the rain! You're as dry as a Sunday sermon! No offense, Reverend!" he hastened to add. James nodded benevolently and made the sign of God's Talent over his heart.

"Cleary, my timing is far superior to yours." My tone was smug, and he looked at me for the first time. It was just a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, but almost immediately he turned to look at me intently, and I was pinned by his stare.

I felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen, even sopping wet and covered in mud. His eyes were the soft gold of a perfectly fired crème brulée. His wet hair was a rich chocolate ganache. Staring at his broad shoulders, I wanted to eat him up and not share with anyone, and I blushed painfully at my ungodly thoughts.

"So it seems," he rumbled, our eyes still locked.

"Introductions are in order," Reverend James said. "Ella, this is-–˝

"Richard," the man interjected smoothly, bowing over my proffered hand. His hand was much bigger than mine and I swallowed. "The pleasure is all mine." For the first time in the three years since my Coming-of-Age, I felt my Talent well up and threaten to burst loose. I quickly removed my hand, and nodded. I could feel Reverend James look us over appraisingly.

"Let me run to my rectory for something with which to clean yourself off Richard. Why don't you move away from the door so you don't catch a chill. Ella dear, will you take him to the room where my vestments are hung? There's a fireplace there and some chairs."

Richard followed me to the back room, and began to protest when I knelt by the grate to start a fire.

"Oh, here now. Please, let me do that! You'll get dirty," he sounded concerned.

I shushed him kindly, and placed two logs on the grate. Taking a merrily burning candle from a candelabrum by the door, I touched the flame to the logs. I hummed a gentle note and watched the flame leap into blazing warmth on the hearth.

"Ah," Richard said. "Your Talent involves some sort of fire affinity, I'm assuming?"

"Not directly. I'm good at making people feel at home. It mainly manifests through cooking, but I can also stoke a nice fire, and comfort small sadnesses--that sort of thing." I said it in a normal tone of voice, but I tried not to look at him because I still felt overset by his gaze and proximity.

His voice was wistful as he said, "What a fine Talent. I have a small sadness. Can you comfort me?"

Richard's voice was too intimate for our brief acquaintance, but when I opened my mouth to put him in his place, I looked and saw the depth of his eyes, and the fine lines webbing his mouth that belied his young age and instead I found myself saying, "I get the impression your sadness is larger than you imply and it's outside the scope of my humble talent."

His laugh was as sharp and brittle as spun sugar candy, but I got the impression that he was genuinely pleased by my answer. "Very perceptive, Ella." His face softened, and he moved his chair a little closer to the fire. He stretched out hands made pale from the cold, but he didn't shiver.

Reverend James entered the room carrying a blanket and a towel. "Here, cretin. Dry your hair, and try not to get my leather chair sodden." Richard winked at him, and then wrapped himself up in the blanket. "I've got two charming little girls outside in matching uniforms who are trying to sell me cookies. Since I was not graced with pastries today, I'm afraid I have pressing business with them. If you two will excuse me for a bit?"

In the reverend's absence, the silence that grew between us was organic and friendly, and I pretended that I didn't notice when he peeked at me from the corner of his eyes. Richard ran his fingers through his drying hair, and it began to resemble a slightly curly haystack. Taking a deep breath, he made to say something, but was interrupted by his stomach growling noisily. I laughed, delighted.

"Hush you! Laughing at a poor starving man who set off this morning without breakfast. Very uncharitable!"

"I'm sorry. You looked so chagrined-–as if your stomach had told me some dire government secret."

He shook his finger at me. "My stomach has no government secrets! Who told you it did? Was it Reverend James? Because whatever I told him was in strictest confidence." Richard smiled at my giggle, and abandoning my plans to buy fripperies for a dress when faced with a hungry man, I flipped the cloth back from my basket and offered him a pastry.

With a greedy look, he chose the most perfect of the _pains au chocolats_. Richard put it to his lips and I watched his teeth, as straight and white as a picket fence, sink into the pastry. As he chewed, his eyes widened and he stared at me in wonder.

His mouth was full and his teeth were covered in chocolate when he said, "Oh, Lord. I don't think I've ever eaten anything this good before. I can tell already that I'm going to be greedy and eat at least another. Maybe three." His face glowed, and he cradled the pastry lovingly before shoving the rest of it in his mouth in an astonishing display of gluttony. Richard wiped the corner of his mouth and sighed. "You know, I don't know you very well, but I have the strangest urge to tell you secrets."

"I'm sorry. It's a side effect of my Talent. I've got you bundled up in it so that you don't feel the cold quite as much. You don't have to tell me any secrets, Richard."

"I'm ticklish."

"What?"

"I'm slightly deaf in my right ear and I have no fashion sense."

"I think you dress very nicely."

"My mother buys my clothes… Lord, _that's_ a secret I would have gladly kept to myself." He dropped his head into his hands. "You're a very dangerous woman, Ella. Have you ever thought about becoming a spy? We could call you Bella Ella, the spy who seduces men through their tummies."

"That makes me sound like a wrestler… Did you just say tummies?"

"No," he lied.

"Well, all right then. I don't want to seduce men for my country. I just want to bake pastries." I stared at him, bemused.

Richard waved his hands as if clearing the air. "It's an emotional seduction." He looked at me through lowered lashes and smiled slowly. My chest felt tight as his eyes met mine. "Are you going to the party at the Huffington mansion?" His voice was normal, but his eyes were intent.

"I'm not sure." I looked down at my hands.

"It'd be so much more pleasurable if you'd attend with me.

These are always such dull affairs. People stand around uncomfortably in clothes that are too tight, discussing things that don't really interest them. Your eyes are really green, Ella. Pretty. We'll be listening to acceptable music instead of that dreck that the kids listen to, you know." He zoomed on, leaving me breathless and unable to answer his sneaky compliment. "Before I met you today, I'd already planned on setting a discreet fire or two to distract people while I made my escape." His eyes lit up. "Oh, _you're_ good with fire. Do you want to escape with me?"

I was laughing. "Of course, I do. However, only so that I may prevent you from burning down the Huffingtons' house!"

"It's settled then. You will be my date." Richard looked inordinately pleased with himself as he rummaged around for another _pain au chocolat_ that suited his discriminating taste. "Shall I pick you up at your house?" His hand emerged holding another pastry. "Good lord, look at the size of this one. You shall be even more delicious than the last," he said lovingly to the dessert.

I thought of helping the girls prepare, and the crippling embarrassment I'd feel if he showed up early and I was still in my servant's uniform. "I have something I have to take care of before the party, so how about I meet you there?"

Richard smiled at me, a slow, pleased smile that made my heart beat faster. Nervously, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and looked everywhere but at his face. I cleared my throat and thrust the basket of pastries into his hands. "Well, I have to be going. Here you go. Make sure you share with Reverend James like a good boy." I was babbling, and I could feel a painful flush creep up my neck.

"Are you leaving? Already?" The good humor was gone from his face, and his eyes looked dark and sad. He ran his hands through his hair impatiently. "Look, you weren't just humoring me when you said you'd come to the party? I'd really like to see you again." His smile was lopsided. "Especially when I'm not looking like a drowned pup."

"Who's rolled in mud… or worse!"

"Exactly. I am extremely debonair, when I'm not wearing blankets." Richard reached out for my hand, and I gave it to him nervously.

"I'll be there. I promise."

He smiled and ran his thumb across my knuckles. I turned and fled.

* * *

The room had begun to grow dark as I lay in bed, clutching my pillow to my belly and crying. It had happened so quickly that I was having trouble taking in my sudden change in circumstances. Ms. Littleton had pulled me aside after lunch, and informed me that I would no longer be welcome to attend the ball as chaperone for the Academy. Her face had been sorrowful, and her eyes guilty as she cleared her throat, and I had waited because it was clear she had more to say.

"I won't be needing your services anymore, period." My head had jerked up, and from the corner of my eye, I'd seen Cynthia smile serenely and turn on her heel. Watching her leave, the headmistress continued. "Ella, I'm so sorry. I can't afford bad word of mouth from the Quaddlebaums. We're a small institution, and rely on recommendations to survive." She straightened, pulling the shreds of her dignity around her once more. "But I'll be damned if I just turn you out. Here," she'd said, pressing a sheet of paper into my hand. "My sister Nora owns a bakery in Haverford. She's agreed to take you on full time."

I'd nodded numbly, just wanting to escape to my room and curl up around my battered ego. Four hours passed while I lay in silence, the shadows in my bedroom creeping across my floor and growing darker by the hour. I thought of Richard with his shy grin and caramel eyes waiting for a date that would never show up, and my heart was sick.

I heard a soft tap on my door, and rolled onto my stomach. I pulled the pillow over my head and shouted, "Go away!"

"What the…" The knob jiggled on the door, but I had locked it earlier to ensure privacy from the girls. "Ella, let us in!"

"Elizabeth, I'm not really feeling up to a conversation right now. Can you just leave me alone? I'll talk to you in the morning."

"In the morni… Absolutely _not_. Ella, you open this door immediately, or I'll have Hyacinth put polka dots all over your face. You had best not be under the impression that you are _not_ going to the ball when you have a handsome devil there waiting for you, his heart on his sleeve."

"Hyacinth, have you been forcing Elizabeth to read your _Romantic Tattler_?"

"No, ma'am. It's all I can do to get it back, and when I do, it's all rumpled from her sweaty hands. Please let us in, Ella." Hyacinth's voice was sweet.

I sighed, and disentangled myself from my comforter. As I snapped on the light and opened the door, I stood there blinking stupidly. Hyacinth and Elizabeth stood laden with boxes, and behind them were two of the younger girls who hadn't been old enough to be included in the invitation. "Samantha. Jennifleur." I said, nodding at them.

All four girls bustled in, and Elizabeth pushed me back to sit on the bed.

"Now, you are going to the ball."

"Elizabeth, I was fired. I'm sure I'm no longer included in the invitation sent to the school."

"Yes, and of course we'll miss you, ninny. But with a Talent as wonderful as yours, you can get a job anywhere. You've already had another invitation. You are going, and that's that!" She gestured at Hyacinth, who stepped forward carrying a long bag. "Your dress, madame!"

My jaw dropped. The sleeves had been removed, and a white satin ribbon trimmed the square neckline. The bodice glowed and sparkled from a million tiny glass beads that cascaded from the shoulders. A floor-length dark green underskirt had been added to the formerly calf-length white dress so it would flare gently, and trail a few inches behind me when I walked. There were matching green gloves that were long enough to pass my elbows, and a sweet green capelet to keep me warm. I burst into tears.

"Oh, please don't cry! I'm no good at girl stuff, and I don't know if you are crying because you are happy, because you got fired, or because we altered your mother's dress!" Elizabeth sounded panicked. I laughed through my tears, gathering all four girls to me in a hug.

"The first. You girls have done some lovely work here."

"I did all the green! Do you know how many layers of polka dots I had to do to make it solid? My brain hurt for days. It was very similar to studying for a French test. Horrible!" Hy wrinkled her nose.

"I did the beading. I hope you like it, um, because it's not coming off. I didn't have time to _sew_ it all on, so I kind of melded the beads to the fabric." She blushed and cleared her throat. "Oh, and the piece de resistance!" Elizabeth produced a shoebox from the stack of clothing they'd smuggled to me.

She opened the box, and inside were a perfect pair of glass slippers.

"Oh, they're beautiful!" And they were. The shoes had delicate scrollwork covering the toe, and a dainty frost covering the heel. "But, glass? Won't they shatter at my first dance step and cut me as broken glass is so prone to do? Or drive enormous slivers into my feet?"

Elizabeth was nodding. "Good question. I poured and poured Talent into these, and they are shatterproof. I knew you'd complain otherwise." She winked outrageously.

And without further ado, they helped me dress.

In what seemed a matter of a few moments, I was standing before the mirror, my heart in my throat. I felt like another woman, born into a different life. My mouth turned up and I traced the fine scar on my hand.

"Ella, you've got to hurry. Cynthia's chauffeur-–who is quite smitten with you, by the way-–is going to take you to the party in the Quaddlebaum's Mercedes. The only catch is that you have to leave at midnight on the dot so that he has time to pick up his miserable employers by one. Don't forget or he'll be in terrible trouble!" Elizabeth was speaking to me in a serious fashion as she threw my capelet over my shoulders and smoothed my dress. Finally she kissed me on the cheek, and said, "Go get him, Tiger."

"That had better not be a prelude to you patting me on the butt." I smiled. "Thank you girls. You've really worked a miracle tonight. Thanks…" I bit my lip. "Thanks for being my friends." Clutching the warmth of their friendship to my heart, I rushed into the night.

* * *

_A/N: Again, if you feel so inclined, please nudge that periwinkle button below. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

I was intimidated. Johnson the Chauffeur drove me up a mile long drive to a mansion that glowed like a firefly in the night. Rosy light spilled from every window, and I could see the crush of people inside. They were laughing, and toasting, and drinking champagne, dressed in their finest. Every single one of them looked like they belonged–-like they were on their home turf. No one was staring at the elaborate ceiling frieze depicting chariots pulled by wild-eyed horses. No one was amazed that the whole first floor was illuminated by golden phosphorescent bubbles that _reeked_ of Talent and gently bumped their way around the room like planets orbiting the sun.

I did not want to go in there. I'd be picked out immediately as a sheep in wolf's clothing. Moreover, there was a footman at the door taking invitations, and since I'd been fired and Richard was nowhere in sight, I didn't have one. My shoes clicked on the pavement as I turned and started to walk away from the house and down the mile long drive. _Urgh, I'm such a coward_. I bit my lip and swung around and marched back towards the house. Again, confronted by the supercilious footman, my heart quailed and I fled.

"Is this a dance in your country?" Richard asked, amused. He was sitting at his ease on a bench flanked by leering centaurs that lined the drive. The shadows were dark there, and I hadn't seen him.

"Oh!" I started.

"Don't let me stop you! Please continue your little jig. That is what it was, correct? Because I'd hate to think that you were debating whether or not to stand me up." He rose gracefully from the bench and smiled.

"Richard! I was nervous. Walking into that crowd was going to be hard, and I wasn't sure I could do it."

"It was very sensible of you to be nervous. You are so much more beautiful than any other girl here that they are bound to be jealous and try to do nasty things to you like set your hair on fire or turn your face purple. There's a girl here named Millicent, and I've heard that's her Talent. I'd hate to see your face clash with your dress." He paused, and offered me another shattering smile. "Shall we?" He bowed and proffered his arm, and swallowing, I took it.

His suit was charcoal gray cashmere, and he wore it carelessly with a crisp white shirt and a red patterned tie in a double Windsor knot. Richard's arm was solid and warm beneath my hand. I cleared my throat.

"You look very handsome," I said, blushing. He looked at me, surprised but pleased.

Brushing imaginary dirt off his lapel, he said, "I tried to hose the mud and dog hair off for you."

I perked up. "Oh, do you have a dog?"

"Yes, his name is Monster, and I adopted him from the shelter a year ago. He goes most places with me. I'd introduce you, but he's terribly snobbish and has asked that I don't approach him at parties."

I laughed and began to relax. "I've always wanted a dog, but have never had room unfortunately. I really like animals."

"Yes, I'd imagine working at the girl's school cramped your style a bit in that respect." Richard smiled into my startled face. "Don't look so shocked. When you ran off so quickly last time, I pumped the Good Reverend for as much information about you as he could give me." His face clouded. "I shall have to speak with him about being so free with a lady's personal information. What if I was deranged?"

"I'm sure he already knew your particular form of derangement was harmless."

He laughed. "True enough. Come inside, Ella. Let's dance!"

* * *

Richard was a charming date and an excellent dancer. We whiled the night away, his hand on my waist, mine on his shoulder as we waltzed and laughed. I found that it was impossible not to like the man, and despite everything else that was going on in my life I was very glad I had come.

"Richard, I call uncle! I need a rest from dancing, sir. My shoes–-although charming-–are not actually terribly comfortable. They pinch my feet, and there's no give at all. I guess that's a drawback to glass shoes. Also, I'd love a glass of punch."

He deposited me next to an elderly lady on a gold sateen couch, and looked at me quite seriously. "I'm leaving you under Nana's protection," he said, nodding to the woman sitting next to me, half-asleep. "Please don't let yourself get stolen by any other handsome men in my unfortunate absence. I'm besotted with you, and I should be quite put out if you were kidnapped and thrown over any shoulder but my own." Richard gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and I felt my heart leap into my throat. I covered the spot where his lips had touched, and I could feel a blush start creeping up my neck. "Nana, keep the mace handy."

I watched him walk away, and the farther away he got, the more defensive his posture became. He kept his eyes on the floor, and the several times he was stopped I noticed that he refused to look people in the face. Most people didn't even notice. A few of the women he spoke with did, and were agitated by it. All signs of the sweet, light-hearted man I was coming to know were totally absent from this hunched figure. He looked like a swimmer battling the waves and losing. I watched a flash of orange descend upon him.

Cynthia Quaddlebaum laughed and cajoled and flaunted her skinny chest to entice Richard onto the dance floor, but he was turning a shade of green fit to rival the green of my gloves the longer he spent in her presence. The answers he gave her were short and clearly curt, and her mouth curled more and more towards its conventional sneer. His head was turning side-to-side in what appeared to be an attempt to remove her even from his peripheral sight. Finally, I saw him mouth the words, "I'm here with a date," and he began to turn in my direction.

Immediately, I was off the couch and fleeing into the crowd. If Cynthia saw me here, there's no telling the unpleasantness I would suffer and cause Richard. Plus, she could peel the very dress right off my back and leave me in nothing but my skivvies and a pile of sand. Wouldn't _that_ make a great impression on a first date?

I was quickly lost on the enormous first floor, and I stumbled towards a pair of glass doors that led out onto a veranda. It was a relief to be out of the mad crush, and I took a deep breath. The night was clear, and I could see the stars above me like flecks of paint on an infinite canvas. The cool wind chilled me, and I rubbed my arms.

A gentle pair of hands slipped my capelet over my shoulders. Richard turned me around so that he could tie the ribbon snugly around my throat. "Why did you run off so fast?" His palm brushed my cheek. "You abandoned me to a nightmare in tangerine organza."

I turned my face lightly into his hand, and smiled. "People I didn't want to see. And vice versa." I reached up and touched the knot of his tie. His face was very soft. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, my mother did pick my outfit this evening. Way to spoil a moment, Ella."

"No, I'm serious. I have a question that I'd like to ask you."

"Of course. I'd like us to be open with each other."

"Why can't you look people in the eye? What's your Talent?"

Richard's face lost its cheerful glow, and he sighed. He patted the thick stone balcony railing, and at my nod, he lifted me on to it. With a hand on either side of my hip, he leaned in to look me in the face.

"I'm terribly lonely. Kind of pathetic, right? It's not something I'm eager to share about myself, but it might explain why I'm like a puppy tripping over his own paws in eagerness when I'm with you. It's a byproduct of my Talent." He looked over my shoulder at the back garden. "What percentage of people do you think are good people?" I clasped my hands together to keep myself from touching him.

"I don't know. I guess I think most people are basically good people, but just make bad decisions at times."

"That is a sweet answer that makes me want to cuddle you like a teddy bear. A very wrong, incorrect teddy bear." Richard tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "The correct answer is very few. My Talent is that I can see who is good and who is…not good. A full quarter of those people in that room have _nothing_ but darkness that lives in their hearts. Another quarter is populated by complete reprobates who might have loved their puppy when they were a kid, but that's it. The rest have a mix of good and bad in varying degrees. It presents itself as a gradation of light, but the darker they are the sicker I get. I try not to look people in the eyes because it makes me really, really sick." He looked so sad, it broke my heart, and I reached up and cradled the nape of his neck in my right hand.

"What do you see when you look at me?" I whispered.

He smiled. "You, my darling, shine. When I'm with you, I feel like I'm home." His mouth brushed mine, and my eyes fluttered shut. I drank in the taste of his mouth (coffee and peppermint), and admitted it to myself: I was _really _falling for this guy. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

* * *

"I have to leave soon. It's ten minutes until midnight."

"Don't be silly. Midnight is hours away yet. I want to hear another story about working at the school. Also, I was wondering if you'd pet my hair while you were telling it. That's quite nice, and I don't recall anyone ever having done it before." He looked at me piteously, and I laughed, but resumed stroking his hair. It was easy to do since I was sitting on the ground, and his head was in my lap. "Thank you. I was so deprived until I met you."

"Well, you're about to be deprived again, because no matter what you say, it's nearly midnight. I promised Johnson that I'd meet him directly at twelve so that he won't get in trouble with the Quaddlebaums. He did me a favor. It'd be wrong to make him wait."

"Wrong? Define wrong."

"Well, not right."

Richard harrumphed and closed his eyes. "What a terrible and vague definition. By your standards, that could also mean left. Do you have a problem with things that are left? Are you a leftist?"

"Don't quibble with me in order to change the subject. I've spent all of five hours in your presence, and already I know your tricks." He looked unrepentant despite the strength of my words. "You'd better change them up or I'll think you're a one-trick pony and get bored and find myself at _least _a two-trick pony." The lazy smile dropped from Richard's face, and he sat up stiffly.

"It's nearly midnight. We should get moving." He offered me his hand, and pulled me up.

"Hey." I reached out and touched him on the shoulder. "I was just teasing you."

"I know." He smiled sadly. "Will you allow me to escort you to your car?"

We walked arm in arm through the ballroom. I was savoring the last few moments I had to spend with this man I already felt so close to; the last few minutes before I had to walk back into my reality of poverty and unemployment. My heart flip-flopped when he gave me a lop-sided smile, and laced his fingers with mine.

"Can I come see you tomorrow?" he asked me.

"_Well_, Edward Richard Huffington III." The voice chilled me to my marrow with its barely contained anger and violence. We turned to face a slim, stylish woman in her fifties in a structured gold dress weighed down by several tons of chunky gold jewelry.

"Mother," he said calmly. I noticed he was unable to look at her directly, and I felt a thrill of nervousness. Suddenly, her words sank in to my fevered, frightened brain, and I turned to look at Richard with horror. _Edward Richard Huffington? _Why had he not told me who he was? Was this all some sort of elaborate prank? Romance the kitchen maid to horrify your mother? With a flourish, he pushed my hand into the air and bowed deeply. "I'd like to introduce you to Miss Enson…"

"I know who she is." She turned to face me, her eyes furious. "How dare you come here--sneaking in, trying to take advantage of my good nature. If not for the Quaddlebaums I'd never have known. You sneaking, filthy strumpet. How dare you soil our name and my son's reputation with your common presence." She poked me in the breastbone hard enough for me to cry out.

"Mother, that's _enough_." Richard thundered, and stepped in front of me.

Cynthia Quaddlebaum, a nightmare vision in eviscerated orange, was standing to my right, watching the whole thing unfold with a sadistic pleasure. The smile dropped from her face when Edward, scion of the House Huffington, stood up for me – a common kitchen maid. I'm sure she'd imagined that I'd kept him ignorant of my identity. Her face went pale and then flushed a furious red, and I felt the room suddenly darken.

A single bead popped off the front of my mother's dress, and I heard it hit the floor. In the midst of all the noise from Edward/Richard and his mother fighting, I heard the bead hit the floor with a clear bell-like note, and I looked up and met Cynthia's eyes. They were narrowed and hard, and I could smell the metallic tang of Talent pouring off of her. The world collapsed until it was just the two of us--an electric current running between us.

My dress suddenly felt as if it didn't fit as well, and I felt the stays holding the underskirt together start to pop. One by one, the careful beading on my bodice loosened and fell to the floor like a shower of hailstones. My worst fears were coming true, and I turned on my heel to run.

"Ella! I warned you, Ella!" she screamed, and above her one of the golden phosphorescent bubbles burst. There was a shocked gasp from the assembled crowd, and people moved to get away from Cynthia. I was halfway to the door when I stumbled over my underskirt. The gorgeous green ripped away from the dress, and I kicked it and the glass slippers away, fearing that they'd melt to my feet. She shrieked and around me I saw other people having similar problems as their cummerbunds popped off and their knits unraveled and their makeup melted off their faces. The room was in a complete panic, and I saw Richard trying to reach me. His lips mouthed my name.

He was still ten feet away when all of the phosphorescent globes popped from the pressure of Cynthia's malevolent Talent. The room was plunged into darkness, and I turned on my heel and left.


	4. Epilogue

_A/N: So, here's the final bit. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Again, reviews are appreciated. :)_

* * *

_One month later:_

I wiped my sweaty brow with the back of my hand, and pulled the tray of oatmeal bread from the oven. It was crusty and smelled like heaven and I put it on the counter to rest.

"Nora, the last batch is done. Just let it cool for a bit, and you can put it out for sale. I'm heading out for the morning." I could feel that my face was flushed from the heat, and I pulled my hair out of its ponytail as I left the kitchen and removed my apron. "See you tomorrow, sweetie!" I called out to her.

"You've never called me sweetie, Ella. I'm sure it was just an oversight on your part, but still, I'm wounded to the quick." I started, and smoothed my red knit shirt, and wiped my hands on my jeans. His voice was soft and familiar and loved, but I did not turn around. I started walking and pushed my way through the door, the bell jangling dissonantly. I heard his feet on the pavement behind me.

"Ella, wait! Please just talk to me. Do you know how many of your baked goods I had to eat before I had the courage to say anything to you? I've come every day for the last week just to smell your cooking, just to be near you." He put his hand on my shoulder, and I shrugged it off. "I know I screwed up. I should have told you who I was, but I hated being a Huffington, and I loved who I was when I was with you. I was worried you would think about me differently."

I stopped and turned to face him. His face was more angular as if he'd lost some weight, and his clothes-–

"What are you wearing?" I asked incredulously.

"What do you mean? Jeans and a t-shirt."

I pointed to the iron-on of a smiling monkey eating a banana on his chest.

"Don't you like it? I thought he looked very friendly, like he might share with me. I bought this shirt in three different colors. I'm shopping for myself now." He sounded pleased.

"Look, Edward," I began.

"Richard," he interrupted. "It's what my friends call me."

"Richard, then. You told me you wanted to be open with each other. I feel like I can't trust you because you lied about who you were. And I'm angry, too. If I had known who you were, I wouldn't have been taken by surprise by your mother. I was humiliated."

"I'm very sorry that you had to go through that. But I never lied. You are the first person I've been totally open with in… a long time. I just didn't tell you who my family was, and I am really sorry for that. I'd like to make it up to you, Ella." Richard reached up and stroked my cheek, and my whole body yearned to lean into him.

"How did you find me?" I asked roughly.

"I wooed Hyacinth and Elizabeth with chocolates. Those are some very sweet girls. I could look at them with no problems." He made a face. "Although I should talk to them sternly about being so free with a lady's personal information. How did they know I wasn't deranged?"

I bit my lip around a sob, and stepped into him. His arms closed around me, and I could feel his heart thundering. "Stupid girl," he whispered into my hair. "You could change countries and I'd still find you. You didn't think moving two towns over was going to deter me, did you?"

I laughed, still with tears streaming down my face and turned my mouth to his. He rumbled in contentment against my lips, and his fingers tangled in my hair. I was crushed to his chest, and I didn't mind a bit.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you." His voice was shaky. "I was afraid you weren't going to forgive me, or that you'd already moved on, when here I was, acting like a fool over you."

"I was worried you weren't going to come – that I'd just been a diversion to you."

"No, of course I was coming. How could I not?" He rained tiny kisses on my face and neck before gently releasing me. Richard tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. "Now, I'm going to feed you. It's nearly lunchtime, and if I don't eat on time I become as cross as a bear. My flat is just around the corner. Can I make you something to eat?"

"You've got a flat in town?"

He stared at me like I was a simpleton. "How was I going to be near you if I didn't live in the same town as you? It's quite large. I know it's too soon, but it's easily big enough for two. I thought maybe down the road…"

"Lunch would be lovely," I interrupted him. "Thank you, Richard."

He smiled and put his arm around my waist. "It's just this way, my love."


End file.
